


20 Hours Around Sorquellia

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-25
Updated: 2006-03-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: A first contact goes weird, Archer gets goofy, Hoshi freaks, Malcolm is very put upon, Trip gets in trouble again, Travis actually has something very important to do, and T'Pol is just T'Pol. Crossover, West Wing. Set in Season 4. (07/28/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Our fave bridge crew (a little OOC in places), but most plot situations and a good deal of the dialogue from that other show. This happens early in Season 4, sometime between 4.03 "Home" and 4.07 "The Forge." Not my first fanfic, but the first I've gotten up the courage to submit  
  
This is a crossover with _The West Wing_. Some parallels were obvious (Trip for Josh, and Archer for Bartlet); others worked themselves out as I wrote.  


* * *

### 0730 Hours

"So, what's next?"

Captain Jonathan Archer stood with his senior staff in the situation room of Enterprise, going over the plans for the day.

Enterprise was in orbit around a pleasant-looking Minshara-class planet, Sorquellia, and had found a friendly-seeming civilization that had just developed warp drive. The Sorquellians were almost all aligned with one of their two political parties. T'Pol had scheduled a meet-and-greet with the minority party later in the morning, and the majority party had requested their presence at a banquet in their honor that evening.

All in all, Archer thought, a day full of opportunity. That's why we're out here.

"Nothin' much going on in Engineering, sir," reported Tucker. "Things are running smoothly. Shuttlepod One is prepped for the morning away mission."

"All weapons and defenses are online and functioning well," reported Reed.

"Nothing out of the ordinary on the comm," reported Sato.

"Our orbit around the planet is stable," reported Mayweather.

Archer paused a moment while his staff stared at each other.

"All right then. Dismissed. Tucker, Reed, you're with me for the AM visit. Meet me in the shuttlepod bay in two hours."

"Well, that had to be the shortest morning meeting on record," Malcolm muttered to Trip as the group dispersed.

"You know what they say about gift horses, Mal," replied his friend.

"Still...I don't like it. Things are running too smoothly."

"Well, you two in a shuttlepod with the Captain on a first contact mission...that's got trouble written all over it," Hoshi smiled.

She looked at their faces.

"Come on, guys, I'm just kidding."

"Let's hope she's not right," said Malcolm.

### 0745 Hours

Trip entered the turbolift feeling oddly empty. It wasn't often that he found himself with nothing to report to the Cap'n in the mornings. He'd find _something_ to do today, even if it involved cleaning the plasma coils.

He pictured himself up to his who-knows-what in muck with a brush and a pail.

Naaah. Maybe not.

Anyway, he was part of the away team that was going to meet the minority party in a couple of hours, and he needed to be clean for that.

He walked through the main door to Engineering with a sense of purpose.

"Raw-STOV!"

Who was immediately next to him, PADD in hand, following him to his office, babbling about the work that had come in over the previous evening.

Which was all distressingly, infuriatingly trivial and could be done by the most junior crewman. With one hand tied behind his or her back. And a hangover.

Trip automatically delegated the work without much thought, made a mental note to recommend that Rostov look into decaf, and sat down in front of his console to check his messages.

None. Nada. Squat. It was going to be a long day, first contact or no first contact.

So Trip decided to try management-by-walking-around. Works for Jon, he thought.

He wandered over to the other end of the room, where Hess sat in front of a terminal smiling and pointing at something that didn't look like work at all. Rostov peered over her shoulder, snickering.

Once again, Trip's curiosity got the better of him. He neglected to remind himself that this was usually a bad thing.

"Whatcha looking at?"

They looked up.

"Hi there, Catfish Cookie," Rostov choked.

Damn, Trip thought. My people need some shore leave _now_.

"You've got fans," Hess said through her grin. "Not many of them, from the looks of it, but what they lack in number they more than make up for in fervor."

Trip peered over her other shoulder. The hell?

"It's trippin4tucker.com. Your very own fan site. They've got pictures, forums, everything. There's even a section where they tell about _seeing_ you on the street. From a great distance. But I'd guess that...well, in some cases their imaginations are running away with them, given how long we've been out here."

"Really?" Trip looked closer. Looked like Hess had been reading the forums.

"Yep. Your fans are very...dedicated."

"In what way?"

"Well," she took a breath, "here...", and she clicked on a link, loading a new page.

Trip read. " 'Day Trippin'—The Tucker Fantasy Date Section'".

Rostov attempted to straighten his face. Unsuccessfully. "Your appeal seems to cross many lines, sir...including gender."

Hess couldn't resist the urge to see the reaction to this. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have the Commander's camera this minute, she thought. I bet these people would give their right arms for wallpaper of _this_.

Trip's complexion resolved itself from purple down to a relatively subdued fuschia. He tried to collect himself, and made a face. "Get back to work, Rostov."

Rostov completely lost it and staggered off, tears running down his cheeks.

"At least they haven't put up a fan fiction section yet..." Hess sputtered. "Ahem. Sir, what level diagnostics did you want me to run on the manifold controls?"

"Hmmm?" The Commander seemed to be engrossed in what he was reading.

"Commander? The manifold diagnostics?"

"Oh. Yeah. Run the weeklies. I'll be in my office." He stood up and stalked off.

"Yes, sir."

As Hess accessed the control screen for her tests, she glanced over at the little office. Her boss seemed riveted to whatever he was reading on his terminal. Gee, wonder what that could be, she smiled.

### 0930 Hours

Exactly two hours after the morning briefing, one mildly confused Chief Engineer met his Captain and Armory Officer on the way to the shuttlepod bay.

"You gentlemen ready?" asked Archer, as they walked down the halls.

He put his arm through one sleeve of his jacket, then flipped it over his shoulder to put the other sleeve on. Old water polo injury must be acting up again, Trip thought.

"Ready as we'll ever be, Cap'n," Trip replied.

"Sir, don't you think it would be a good idea to...well...be a little more prepared?" Malcolm began. His gun hand fidgeted helplessly at his side.

"Carry more firepower, Lieutenant? Not this time. We need to make a friendly impression on these people, and you know as well as I do that going there armed to the teeth isn't the way to do it."

"Yes, sir."

Archer looked at his best friend. "Trip, is everything OK?"

"Yes, Cap'n," Trip answered, trying to compose his face into more placid lines.

Archer shrugged. Whatever was bothering Trip would eventually come out...it always did. Sometimes he wished it didn't. But it would soon enough.

They entered the shuttlepod, performed the standard pre-flight check, and left Enterprise. Archer insisted on flying this one himself.

"Were you gentlemen aware," Archer began, turning the shuttlepod to face the planet, "of the similarities among the two-party political systems on known planets? According to the Vulcan database, of the planets with which first contact has been made, approximately three-fifths have a party system, and of those, most have only two parties. A few have three, and there is apparently one unusual five-party civilization..."

Malcolm and Trip, seated in the back of the shuttlepod, looked at each other. There he goes again, their glances communicated...thank God this was a short flight.

They turned back to him. Better pay attention...there might just be a quiz later.

### 1002 Hours

About half an hour later, Enterprise received a hail from the planet.

"It's the prime minister's liaison, Commander," said Hoshi.

T'Pol rose from the captain's chair and approached the viewer.

"On screen, Ensign."

A pleasantly mottled face appeared.

"Greetings, Commander," it said with a smile.

T'Pol nodded.

"We are very much anticipating your visit this evening."

"As are we," T'Pol returned.

"On our planet, we have a tradition for greeting outworlders," the face continued. "We would like to offer your Captain his choice of the best of our cuisine, and would like to send a steward to you with a selection in advance of the feast, so that he may choose that which he prefers."

"We appreciate your consideration," said T'Pol.

The face nodded. "We will send a craft up shortly."

### 1323 Hours

The shuttlepod returned to Enterprise a few hours later, a little after lunchtime. T'Pol was waiting for them, as was Phlox; the away team had requested his presence, but hadn't stated much beyond that "the Cap'n had a little accident."

As the door opened, Malcolm emerged first, carrying a small package, then Trip, half-carrying a dazed-looking Archer on his shoulder. Malcolm took Archer's other shoulder, and he hobbled toward Phlox.

As Phlox and Malcolm helped Archer limp off to Sickbay, T'Pol turned an accusing eye on the Commander. He stuck his tongue into his cheek, and rolled his eyes.

"I know that look. I had _nothing_ to do with this one, T'Pol."

They exited the bay, and strolled rapidly down the halls on their way to the bridge.

"Indeed. How was the Captain injured?"

"Well..." Trip started reluctantly. He looked sheepishly around like a little kid. "Their leader offered the Cap'n a ride on this little hover thing that they use to get around. You know, for short distances. Being the Cap'n, he didn't want to say no." He shrugged and grinned. "Gotta say, riding that thing looked like it might be fun."

They arrived at the turbolift, and entered it.

"Well, we were outdoors, and there were these really tall birds..."

The comm beeped.

"Phlox to Subcommander T'Pol."

She turned to the comm and pushed the button. "T'Pol here."

"You will be gratified to know that the Captain will be just fine. He's got a bit of a lump on his head and a slightly twisted ankle, but he should be well enough to attend tonight's festivities. I have a few more checks to run, but he should be able to leave here in fifteen minutes or so, as long as he promises not to overexert himself, hmmm?" Presumably, Phlox was having a little trouble convincing his patient of this.

"Thank you, Doctor. T'Pol out."

The turbolift doors opened onto the bridge.

"Ensign Sato," said T'Pol. Hoshi stood, and the three of them crossed the bridge to the captain's ready room. "We are in need of your special skills."

### 1328 Hours

"How did this..." Hoshi blurted.

The officers stood in the ready room. Trip had repeated his explanation of what had happened down on the planet. Malcolm had joined them after his return from sickbay.

"It's because he's a klutz, Hoshi. I thought I was bad, but sometimes he's worse. Our Cap'n can sometimes be a real geek," sighed an exasperated Trip.

"I'll be obliged if you do not use that word in this office, Mr. Tucker," said T'Pol.

Trip's eyebrow went up in surprise. "Yes, ma'am."

"So how are I supposed to explain Captain Archer's injuries to the prime minister? 'Captain Archer rode his hoverpod into an emu?'" Hoshi was beside herself.

"And he hopes to never do it again?" piped up Trip.

"Seriously, Trip. They're going to be laughing pretty hard."

"He rode a hoverpod into an ostrich while exploring the planet," offered Malcolm. "Hoshi, what do you want..."

" 'The Captain, while riding a hoverpod on shore leave while exploring your planet, came to a sudden ornithological stop,'" suggested T'Pol with more than a hint of irony.

"What do you want from us?" sputtered Trip, trying to smother a giggle and having little success.

"A little love, guys," replied Hoshi petulantly.

"Ensign, I'm sure that whatever explanation you come up with will be quite sufficient," T'Pol said to her. "Please have it ready in time for tonight's event. Gentlemen, I presume that the rest of the meeting went well?"

"Sure did," Trip beamed. "Cap'n made a great impression, at least before the accident. Lotsa smiles and handshakes for everybody. And afterward, they were kind enough to give us a present."

"What sort of present?" asked T'Pol.

"It's a ceremonial cloak or stole of some type. Heavily embroidered. Quite beautiful, in fact. Their leader suggested that the Captain might wear it to the event tonight, as a gesture of goodwill," said Malcolm.

"Oh no," Hoshi said.

Everyone turned to face her.

"Ensign, is there a problem?" asked T'Pol.

"There probably will be, Commander," Hoshi replied. "I've been reading the historical information provided to us by their government. Granted, it might be really one-sided, and their politics are pretty complex..."

"Ensign," prompted T'Pol.

"The two parties don't get along," Hoshi continued. "They _really_ don't get along. So much so that, if Captain Archer wears that stole tonight..."

"...we might be lucky to get out alive?" finished Malcolm.

Hoshi nodded.

Trip sagged backward. "Dammit. That explains why they were so insistent. They had this planned. Sneaky."

"Where is the item now?" T'Pol asked.

"I dropped it off at the quartermaster's. Protocols dictate that all gifts presented to the Captain by alien civilizations must be processed and recorded," said Malcolm. "If they handle these things as they do in the Royal Navy, it's got to be tagged, catalogued, photographed, and appraised. Knowing the QM, it could be ages before you see that thing again after tonight."

T'Pol nodded. "We must try to return this gift. Ensign Sato, you are in charge of retrieving it from the quartermaster. Do whatever is necessary."

"Is it OK if I give this one to Travis to follow up? I've still got to work on the 'ornithological incident'."

"That will be satisfactory," said T'Pol.

"And the other thing..."

"Lieutenant Reed can be in charge of that, as agreed before. Please brief him on the situation. Dismissed."

Hoshi accompanied Malcolm to the turbolift, in which he gave her a wary look.

"What...other thing?" Malcolm hated nothing more than he hated surprises.

Hoshi sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. Especially when the person in question had access to large numbers of dangerous weapons, and the training to use them and hide the body afterwards.

"...and so they have sent the steward to us with a selection of foods," she said as they stepped out of the turbolift and headed down the hall toward the armory.

"I still don't understand...why does this involve me? Shouldn't the Captain be the one making the decisions?"

"There's one small thing..." said Hoshi as they approached the armory doors.

"That would be?" Malcolm pressed the button, and the doors swooshed open.

They were faced with one alien, several food warmers...

And two eight-foot-tall birdlike creatures with green wattles, dirty brown feathers and long, ratty tails.

"Some of the food...isn't quite dead yet."

Hoshi hurried out of the armory before Malcolm could pick his jaw up from the floor, rode the turbolift back up to the bridge, and stepped toward the situation room.

"TRAVIS!" she called.

### 1415 Hours

Hess found Commander Tucker glued to the terminal in his office. Trip waved her over without looking up. His tongue pushed around the inside of his lower lip, then flicked over the outside before he spoke.

"I need your help postin' something here," he drawled slowly. "I haven't done this before, and I don't want to screw it up."

Hess looked at him in horror. "No. You've got to be kidding. You don't know these people."

He glared at her. "Neither do you."

"Yes, I do."

Trip turned back to the screen. "What's wrong with them, anyway?"

"Nobody knows."

He pointed at the screen. "They're debating advanced warp engineering concepts. Or trying to, anyway. Don't know what they're talking about. I can set 'em straight on a few points."

"You can't post. They can get...well, a little hysterical."

"It's really great that they're interested. Who knows, one of these people might be the next Zephram Cochrane."

Hess snorted. "Not likely, sir."

Trip brought up another screen. "Look, I've got it all typed up." He started reading. "'Dear TripBunnies4Ever. Thanks for your interest. It's great that all of you take such an interest in the work that I love. I feel that it is my duty as a public person and a representative of Starfleet to correct a few misconceptions about how backflow inhibition of the quantum regulators is controlled by the central warp engine's subprocessors...'"

"You're not going to give this up, are you?" she asked him.

The set of his jaw was her answer.

"Fine," she sighed, and took his place at the console. She copied the text into the posting interface.

"Sign it 'Trippin' Tucker'."

Was he insane? "You're really asking for it now."

" _What_? It's...playful."

"And what our Commander Tucker doesn't know is that some of these people haven't taken their medication."

She clicked the Post button.

"Archer to Tucker," said the comm.

"Tucker here."

"Trip, please report to my ready room."

"On my way, Cap'n." And he spun on his heel and left Hess shaking her head.

On the way there, Trip passed Malcolm in the hallway. Given the look of mixed wrath, indignation, and bafflement on his friend's face, Trip thought that it was just as well that he didn't have time to ask Mal what was up. He'd find out eventually, and hopefully without risk of grievous bodily harm.

When he arrived, the Captain and T'Pol were already there. Trip peered at the Captain carefully...apart from looking tired, he seemed no worse for wear.

"T'Pol has explained the problem with the stole," Archer said to Trip. "This sounds serious."

"If Ensign Sato's assessment is correct, and I have no reason to think that it is not, then it is a serious situation indeed," said T'Pol.

"So what can we do?" asked Trip, looking from one to the other.

"Ensign Sato believes that a public return of the item in question would be appropriate, with a statement of support for their peace process, and plenty of smiles and handshakes..."

"And a big ol' tattoo on the Cap'n's rear end saying 'Hey Everybody, Make Love Not War'?" groaned Trip.

"Hopefully _that_ won't be necessary," said Archer, holding a cold pack to his head. "T'Pol, work with Hoshi on an appropriate statement. I'm going to go lie down for a while..."

On his way across the bridge, Archer paused by his communication officer's station.

"Hoshi, can you try to contact someone for me?"

"Of course, Captain. Who would you like me to find?"

### 1442 Hours

Travis made his way to the bowels of the ship. By necessity, the quartermaster's facilities were as low in the hull as possible, to accommodate all of the laundry chute facilities converging in one place. Travis was reminded of certain epic journeys in literature into the depths of Hades (or Mordor, or wherever) in search of...

Ah, there it is. He pressed the door button.

No response.

He tried again. After a moment, the door opened.

The long, gaunt face of the quartermaster appeared over his desk.

"Ah, Ensign Mayweather. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here about that gift that the Captain received today."

"Yes, fascinating, isn't it? The ways that different cultures indicate their political and personal preferences via their garments are _so_ varied..."

"Sorry to interrupt, but the Captain needs it back."

"Well, of course. It will be ready for him to wear tonight."

"No, he needs to give it back."

The quartermaster stared at him.

"Oh, I'm afraid not."

Travis stared back. "What do you mean?"

The quartermaster took a deep breath. "Pursuant to Article 19, Section 2561(q) of the Starfleet Diplomatic Conduct Code, any gift accepted by the captain of an exploratory vessel is deemed to have been accepted on behalf of the people of Earth, and becomes the property of those people."

Travis stopped cold.

"But..."

"Are you suggesting that I break the law, Ensign?" asked the quartermaster.

"No, of course not," Travis replied.

"Well, then, we're in a bit of a pickle."

### 1448 Hours

Malcolm and T'Pol stood in the Armory. They looked up at the two huge birds dragging their dirty tailfeathers across Malcolm's spotless floor. Formerly spotless floor, thought Malcolm.

Their Captain's incipient dinner stared at them from a great height.

"He has to do _what_?" Malcolm said.

"The Captain must bless one of the birds," T'Pol replied. "Whichever one is blessed will be spared. The other will be tonight's main course."

"How, incidentally, is the Captain supposed to choose?" The armory officer's voice rose with indignation.

"According to the steward, the selection should be based on the color of the animal's wattle flaps. Darker green is apparently the more...desirable color."

"And they are in _my_ armory WHY?" Malcolm squeaked.

"When they arrived, no other suitable location could be found."

A pause.

"And, Lieutenant, you will make the choice, not Captain Archer."

A moment.

"Their names are..."

"I don't _care_ what their bleedin' names are!"

Another pause.

"These look just like the one that the Captain bowled over down on the planet. I don't suppose either of them is that particular bird?"

"No such indication was given."

"Too bad. It would have made the decision much, much easier."

Pause.

"You know, I'm a highly trained armory officer. Top of my class."

"Naturally."

"Never had anything to do with babysitting large birds."

"Of course."

Pause. The taller of the two birds lost interest in them and started noisily eating something from a large bowl.

"According to the steward, they will consume simple grains, if they exhaust the contents of their bowl. The smaller one does not like to have his tail-feathers pulled."

"Commander, I'd like to be alone for a while," Malcolm said in strangled tones.

She quietly turned and left the room.

Malcolm mentally compared the maximum diameter of the birds' bodies to the internal dimensions of his torpedo tubes. Damn, he thought. Too big. But the shuttlepod bay doors...

### 1452 Hours

Travis returned to the quartermaster's office, PADD in hand.

He strode triumphantly in.

"According to the Act of Alien Gifts and Decorations, the Captain can choose to buy back any gift accepted on behalf of Earth."

"Back again, Ensign?"

Travis nodded.

"The Captain would like to exercise this option."

"Well, then, we would need an official appraisal."

Travis sighed. "What's your best guess?"

" _My_ best guess? I'm nowhere near being an expert..."

"A guess gives me something to work with."

The quartermaster pondered this for a minute or two, then said, "Roughly half of his annual salary."

Travis sighed again, and left.

### 1530 Hours

Archer was lying on his bed, nursing the mother of all headaches.

Who'd have thought his first contact with the Sorquellians would be a literal contact with the rear end of a greasy brown...whatever-it-was...

The comm beeped.

"Sato to Archer."

"Archer here. Did you find him, Hoshi?"

"Yes sir," she said triumphantly. "Took some doing, but I have him on the line."

"Transfer it to my quarters," he replied. "Archer out."

He dragged himself over to his terminal and accepted the transmission.

"Greetings again, pinkskin. How's that lovely Vulcan of yours?" asked the familiar face, with more than a touch of amusement. "You'll have to pardon my informality, but I've been downing a few this fine evening." His antenna waved randomly, as did the glass of blue ale in his hand.

Archer smiled, relieved. Shran had that effect on him these days.

"Shran, I have to ask your advice on a matter of diplomacy."

"From the man who got me talking to a Tellarite? You know plenty."

"Thanks, but I could use someone to bounce ideas off of."

Shran smiled and took another drink. "At your service. But you'll owe me one."

### 1540 Hours

"What worries me most about all of this is that I'm sitting here discussing it with _you_."

Malcolm was perched on a large crate of ammo, feet dangling, directly addressing the smaller of the two birds. An even stranger thing was that the animal seemed to be paying attention.

"It was close, gentlemen..ladies...uh, never mind that. It was close. But I'm afraid, my friend, that I have to give it to your companion over there." Malcolm nodded his head at said companion, which was busy with an inspection of the ladder to the upper armory area. "From the guidelines I've been given, apparently his wattles are less delectable than yours."

The bird swished its tail once.

Malcolm looked from one to the other.

"Look," he said to neither bird in particular. "This doesn't seem right. Perhaps we can get the Captain to work something out here. He can say something impressive about preservation of life and all that in his speech."

The birds looked at him. He sighed.

"Which will most likely come _after_ dinner. You're right, that won't work."

Malcolm slid off the crate and walked to the comm.

"Reed to Archer."

"Archer here."

"Time to do your duty, sir."

"I'll be there in a few. Archer out."

Malcolm sat back up on his crate and contemplated the nature of godlike power over life and death. The birds ignored him.

### 1603 Hours

Travis was at his station on the bridge, working furiously at something. Hoshi looked up from her next-to-last draft.

"Any luck with the QM?" she asked.

"He's not the problem," returned Travis. "It's these rules and regulations. You wouldn't believe how complex they are. They've covered every little possible eventuality."

"Well, there has to be a loophole somewhere," Hoshi said. "Or something a little more flexible, at least..."

She had a brainwave.

"And I know just the person to ask about it."

Travis looked up hopefully.

"You do?"

Hoshi smiled.

"Can't be a comm officer for long without getting to know _everybody_. Hang on just a minute, I'll see if I can get a hold of him."

### 1613 Hours

Ten minutes later, Travis was back at the quartermaster's. Please, he thought, let this be the last time today.

"I have someone who would like to speak to us on hold," Travis told him.

The quartermaster motioned to his console. "Be my guest."

The face that appeared on the screen was friendly, if obviously unused to sunlight. Then again, they all were.

"This is Mike Dunn, from the Starfleet Counsel's office. Mr. Dunn, Hoshi tells me that there's no part of Starfleet regulations that you don't know."

Dunn blushed slightly. "The regulations on allowable lengths of dress uniform sleeves are a bit obscure to me."

"Indeed," said the quartermaster icily.

"According to Mr. Dunn, the Captain cannot accept any gift from an alien organization that might adversely affect our relations with that organization."

"That's correct," Dunn replied. "Article 19, Section 2560, part B."

"There's a part B?" said the quartermaster uncertainly.

"Yes," nodded Dunn.

The quartermaster picked up the small package and gave it to Travis.

"Thanks. I owe you one," Travis said to Dunn.

"Don't mention it. Just tell Hoshi that she owes me a bowl of oden when you guys get back."

"Will do."

### 1635 Hours

_"Hess!"_

She pulled herself out from under the open panel, stood up, brushed herself off and approached her boss, who hadn't moved from his console all afternoon. He sat, elbow on desk and head in hand, scrolling down the page.

"There's a problem." His tongue pushed insistently at the inside of his lower lip, and his eyes narrowed at his screen.

No kidding, she thought.

"These...people...don't really seem to appreciate my help," he drawled slowly.

She clasped her hands in front and waited.

"There's this moderator person who seems to keep a firm rein on the goings-on."

"Control freak, sir." Amazing how well you can speak when your tongue is anchored to the inside of your cheek, she thought.

"She's a real tightass, too. Bitches at people for postin' in the wrong places, using all caps, over and over again, and then says that she doesn't have time to repeat herself."

How did this man get through Starfleet Academy without figuring out message boards? Was that actually possible? Apparently so...

"But that's not the worst." His hand lifted in frustration.

"No, sir?" She bit her lip.

He sat back in his chair. "Now they're saying that I'm an egomaniac. I don't know what I'm talking about, I'm trying to rewrite the text books according to my own distorted and horribly incorrect theories..."

She couldn't keep this up much longer. "Are you, sir?"

"No!"

"Might be a good idea to just let it drop, sir."

"That's not an option, Lieutenant. It's my responsibility to correct things like this. This kind of misinformation"—he jabbed his finger at the screen—"can't be allowed to spread."

"Sir..."

"Sit down and start typing. Time to dial up my best stuffy-Malcolm impression."

She did, and he did.

"Dear WarpFiver, and others. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility that I just _might_ know a thing or two about Warp Five engines. Bluntly put, that's how things work, I should know, and I don't think any of you are in a position to correct me, in all caps or otherwise. Matter of fact, I'll type in whatever case I want until Starfleet tells me not to. Nothing you can do about it. Have a pleasant day. Love and kisses, Trip."

Dear Jesus, Hess thought.

"That should tell 'em." He looked pleased with himself.

She hit the Post button anyway.

### 1652 Hours

In the hallway, Archer passed Travis, who was beaming and carrying the fabric-wrapped package.

"Mission accomplished, sir," he said proudly.

Archer patted the younger man on the shoulder.

"Good work, Ensign."

"Glad to be of service, sir. Have you seen Commander Tucker? I have a question for him."

Come to think of it, thought Archer, he hadn't for a while.

"Sorry, Travis."

"That's all right, sir. It's nothing important."

And both men continued down the hallway.

### 1655 Hours

A few minutes later, Archer sat next to Malcolm on his crate, feet swinging, looking up at the birds. Who displayed not the slightest interest in the captain of Earth's first warp five starship.

"Ugly blighters, aren't they?" Malcolm said.

"Smelly, too," Archer agreed.

"Ill-tempered."

"And apparently flightless."

They sat for a moment in silence.

"What is it I have to do, exactly?"

"Bless them, sir?"

"I thought I was only supposed to bless one."

"I had an idea, Captain," Malcolm said, turning to him. "If you bless both of them, then perhaps they can't kill both. You know, being blessed and all that. Would be rude."

"That could weaken my position considerably. They may think that we're soft on...what are these things called again?"

Malcolm shrugged. "But then, one wouldn't have to die, perhaps."

"Perhaps, Malcolm. But we have to respect their customs, and I wouldn't want to put them in a difficult position by presenting them with two blessed...whatever-these-are. Especially after I almost took one out earlier today."

"I understand, sir. It just doesn't seem fair."

"Have they grown on you, Malcolm?"

"Not really, sir. I just wouldn't want to be the one that got eaten."

Archer nodded. "Which one do I bless, Malcolm?"

"The bigger one."

Archer stood up and walked up to the taller bird, which towered over him by two feet or so. He cleared his throat, lifted his PADD in front of his face, then looked up at the bird, which regarded him with disinterest.

"As a guest of this fair planet, I hereby bestow upon you my blessing and honor."

He approached the smaller one.

"As a guest of this fair planet, I thank you for serving as our meat of bonding and cooperation."

He lowered the padd, looked the bird in the eye, and returned to his seat.

"That's it, Malcolm."

"That's all, sir?"

"Yep."

"Thank you, sir."

"Part of the job, Malcolm."

"The things we do for Starfleet, sir."

"Duly noted, Lieutenant."

They sat for a little while longer. Then Malcolm rose.

"Mr. Steward, time to send 'em back."

### 1750 Hours

Time to clean up for the feast tonight, Trip realized.

He stood up, stretched himself, and checked his screen one last time. No replies yet. Something to look forward to when I get back, he thought, and walked out of Engineering with a big grin on his face.

A grin that did not pass unnoticed by Malcolm, who met him shortly afterward in the hallway on the way to senior officers' quarters.

"What's got you in such a smug mood?" Malcolm sniffed.

"Just doin' my part for Starfleet and planet," Trip beamed, then looked over at his friend. Malcol's face was screwed up in a grimace, and his walk was even stiffer than usual, if that was possible. He looked wound up to within an inch of his life, Trip thought.

"What's wrong, Mal? Something eatin' at you?"

"Eating is just the problem. The things I do for this mission."

"Cheer up. That's an order. You look like a bird just dumped on you or something."

That did it. With a final, agonized squeak, Malcolm ran the last few steps down the hallway to his door, pounded his fist on the buttons, and fled into his room.

Wonder what's bugging him, Trip thought. I'll have to ask him later. Hopefully the dinner should cheer him up. Travis said something about us eating a bird like the one the Cap'n ran into today. Can't say I've wondered what they taste like, but we're going to find out.

### 1815 Hours

After an appropriate interval, a small group of nattily dressed officers made their way to Shuttlepods One and Two.

"Cap'n, can't we just wear our regular things?" Trip said, tugging at the stiff white collar. "I can't get comfortable in these dress uniforms. Anyway, how are we supposed to eat all of this food they've got for us? There's no give in these."

"Trip, you know how important it is for us to make the best impression possible, especially for a first contact," Archer replied. "And after what happened this morning..."

"Sure made an impression on you, sir," Trip said with a smirk.

"As the Commander might say, we can use all the help we can get," said T'Pol, who wore her Vulcan robes and looked very stately indeed.

"Easy for you today," Malcolm grumbled, still apparently in an ill mood. "You can eat all you want wearing that."

"Enough, ladies and gentlemen," Archer broke in. "Everybody on their best behavior. You _will_ like the people, you _will_ like the food, and you will not _scratch_ "—he swatted Trip's hand from his collar, where he was doing just that—"unnecessarily."

"Yessir," Trip said. Phlox looked on with his usual benevolence.

Hoshi shook her head, and looked at Travis. Remind me why _we're_ the Ensigns here, her glance said...

### 2317 Hours

The Sorquellians really can throw a party, Travis thought some hours later.

They sat at a high table in an enormous hall. Like something out of a movie, he thought, vaguely Gothic architecture, banners hanging from the ceiling, the whole shebang.

The food had been beyond plentiful. There had been so many different options that he'd lost count a long time ago. And they were expected to sample every single one. And who knew what such a variety of foods would do to his stomach in a few hours...

Well, I'm sure Phlox will take care of us, as long as we can make it out of here without embarrassing ourselves, he thought as he sipped more of their sweet wine.

Hoshi seemed to be enjoying herself. She sat next to him, and not only had cleaned off each of her plates, but also seemed to have enjoyed the evening's entertainment. This had consisted of music and dance.

Or, he thought ruefully, what was apparently the Sorquellians' concept of music and dance. The gyrations of the performers reminded him unfavorably of the reconstruction of The Rite of Spring that he'd seen in a history class in high school; he didn't like it then, and he didn't like it now, apparently. As for the music...he looked at Lieutenant Reed, half expecting to see him with chin in hand, deep in thought, pondering the usefulness of the sound as the latest improvement on the caterwauling unofficially referred to as the Reed Alert.

All that remained was the customary exchange of speeches. And the stole...we'll have to see how that works out.

Not much longer, Travis said to himself. Leaning forward, he saw that Trip's plate was almost completely empty. Guess he doesn't really have a problem with these uniforms...nothing can keep the Commander from food. At least, no sign of "the essence of the male" had shown up yet. That they were aware of. He'd meant to ask the Commander about that earlier, but thought better of it.

As if on cue, the prime minister rose to his feet, and tapped his utensil against his glass to quiet the room.

"We are greatly honored to welcome the crew of the Earth ship Enterprise," he began, and the room erupted in applause. The crew did their best to seem gracious.

Travis guessed that most were also doing their best to stay awake. He surveyed the room as the prime minister droned on about the usual topics...new friendships, opportunities, interstellar trade agreements, blah blah blah.

After an inderterminate time, the prime minister's voice ceased, and the crew joined in the general applause.

Now was the Captain's turn for more of the same, Hoshi thought, popping another eggroll-like item into her mouth. Those are good, she noted...thank goodness her hollow leg had kicked in tonight.

The Captain's speech...

She froze, eggrolls forgotten.

Oh my God, she thought. In all of this mess, had anybody actually provided the Captain with a speech?

She turned her head to him. She saw Archer fumbling briefly with a PADD, and sighed in relief. T'Pol must have put something together.

Archer stood up, and cleared his throat. And cleared it again as he wobbled slightly.

Hoshi saw Phlox, sitting between her and the Captain, snap his head around in alarm. Oh no...he's still on his medication for his bump on the head...and he's had _how_ much of that wine?

Archer planted his feet on the floor and took a deep breath. At this point, Hoshi noted, it seemed almost irrelevant that his PADD was apparently nowhere in his visual range.

"Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister, and thanks to everyone here for your hospitality and kindness to me and to my crew."

So far, so good, Hoshi thought.

"Our mission is one of peace and friendship. We welcome opportunities to make new friends out here, and there's nothing I enjoy more than meeting people such as you."

OK, still going well. A little informal, but that's not necessarily a problem.

"This is the part of the job that I really love. I like to roll up my sleeves, and you know..."

Um...

"Get involved!" He beamed happily at his audience.

Hoshi was seized by a desperate need to crawl under the table. Nobody notice. Please...

The crowd applauded, during which Phlox hissed, "Did you drink the wine or the beer?" To which Archer replied, "I wasn't supposed to have both?" "Not with your medication!" Phlox hissed again.

The applause died down, and the Captain soldiered on.

"I love you all, very much. I'd like to tell you a story, about something that means a lot to me. This story, by the way, managed to get the Vulcans to back down once, which, if you haven't met them, is quite a feat indeed."

Hoshi realized what was about to happen, accepted the inevitable with the aid of a shrug of the shoulders and a good slug of wine, and decided that this was the perfect time to lean forward and retrieve another eggroll.

"When I was in my twenties on a trip to East Africa, I saw a gazelle giving birth. It was truly amazing..."

She took the opportunity to survey her crewmates' reactions to this. Phlox was watching the Captain carefully, presumably to catch him in case he fell face-first into the remains of the huge bird they'd eaten. Travis's eyes were about to burst out of his head. Malcolm looked nauseated, although whether the speech or the bird was primarily responsible for this she couldn't be sure. Trip seemed to be in a happy haze, mercifully; he'd made a valiant attempt to do justice to the food and drink, tailored uniform notwithstanding. The look on T'Pol's face indicated that her Vulcan stoicism was being sorely tested.

Hoshi munched her eggroll.

"...We're going to stumble and make mistakes."

Thank God, he's almost done.

"But meetings such as this cannot and should not be classified among them. On behalf of Enterprise, Earth and Starfleet, I thank all Sorquellians for your kind welcomes, and look forward to building a relationship between our two worlds. Before I go, please let me just say this: I'm seriously thinking about adopting one of those enormous birds you have here. What do you call them? Yobies? Yobie, yobie, yobie. Yobie's a nice word, don't you think? Anyway. Thank you."

He sat down again, and smiled benevolently at the applauding assembly. Applauding, but with uncertain looks on their faces... _all_ Sorquellians?

Archer had another bite of roast bird, swayed happily toward T'Pol, and said, "Why are they applauding? Did I miss something?"

Guess I'll need that little "ornithological stop" excuse after all, Hoshi sighed to herself.

### 0213 Hours

In the end, the stole had _not_ been returned. T'Pol had concealed it in her robes in case the need arose, but Archer had managed to defuse the situation with the Prime Minister with an ease that, frankly, surprised her. The accident earlier in the day had broken the ice, and the two men conversed easily.

"I don't think any of us wants to jeopardize this new friendship over a stole, do you?" he asked the PM after a lengthy conversation over breadsticks, and that was that.

As the crew was saying its goodbyes to the Sorquellian council, she pulled him aside for a moment.

"You knew, when you took the stole, the stir it would cause," she said quietly. "You used it to make a point to the Prime Minister."

Archer's small smile told her everything she needed to know, including that, while he might be more than a little loopy at this moment, he still knew how to get the job done.

### 0300 Hours

So it happened that one happy, stuffed, mildly-to-very inebriated, and ready-for-bed bridge crew arrived back on board Enterprise at the end of a long and successful day.

Well, mostly happy.

"I'm going to have to hit the gym twice as hard to work all this off," grumbled Malcolm, easing himself out of the pilot's seat of Shuttlepod One. He'd had to fly them back, as the Captain and Trip were, for different reasons, incapable of flying.

"I hear ya on that," Trip drawled, bending over gingerly as he climbed out of the 'pod. "Cap'n, you OK to go?"

"He should be fine after a good night's sleep," Phlox cut in cheerfully. "Not an experiment we will wish to repeat, though." Archer shook his head. He'd remained blessedly silent on the way back.

T'Pol, Hoshi and Travis exited Shuttlepod Two, and everybody went back to their posts to check in before going to bed.

Trip and Malcolm walked down the hallway together.

"About earlier, Mal...was something wrong?"

"It's a long story. Remind me to tell you about it tomorrow."

Trip nodded, and the armory officer disappeared into his armory muttering something about "blasted dirty beasts" under his breath. Trip shrugged and continued to Engineering.

"Raw-STOV!"

It turned out that not much had happened while they were away. A completely uneventful day from an engineering standpoint, Trip thought to himself, plopping down in front of his terminal to check his messages. Nothing.

He was about to check back in at trippin4tucker.com when the comm interrupted him.

"T'Pol to Tucker."

"Tucker here."

"Please join the Captain, Ensign Sato and me in the Captain's ready room. Immediately."

Something in the tone of her voice...so much for the uneventful day. He met nobody on his way to the bridge.

Travis was still at the helm, finishing whatever he was doing, but the look on his face as he nodded to Trip said, Man, you're in it deep now.

As did the look on Hoshi's face when he entered the ready room.

"Admiral Forrest just contacted me," Archer began. "Somebody from the Starfleet Press Corps contacted him to confirm that you were posting replies to people on a message board somewhere, correcting their misconceptions about warp theory. Is this true?"

Trip bit his lip, then licked it.

"Well, sir, they had some weird ideas about backflow inhibitors..."

"You...were...posting...on...a...WEBSITE?" Hoshi exploded at him.

Remind me never to tick her off, Trip noted.

Oops...too late.

"Created by your fans, and dedicated to you," T'Pol added.

"They're all nuts there, you know," Trip shot back, desperately trying to divert the onslaught to come. "The moderator has serious control-freak issues, and probably needs to lay off the caffeine and cigarettes. No, she _definitely_ does. Probably doesn't get out much, either."

"Why the hell were you there in the first place?" Archer asked, his voice controlled.

"Hess and Rostov found it. It's called trippin4tucker.com..." He trailed off, truly and irretrievably stuck.

Hoshi opened her mouth, and let fly.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of shouting and ranting, as Ensign Sato explained in no uncertain terms to Commander Tucker the true nature of the kinds of people who frequented fan websites, and just how impossible it was for him to come out looking like anything but an idiot. After the first minute, Trip zoned out, realizing that yes, she was entirely justified, and no, there was no way in hell he was going to get out of this in one piece. Instead, he admired her extensive vocabulary of pejoratives, watched the amusement barely concealed on the Cap'n's and T'Pol's faces, inspected the toes of his boots thoroughly, and was duly impressed by the detailed literary parallels she drew in the course of things.

I thought Malcolm was scary, he thought. Hell, all he'll do is blow you up. Hoshi will torture you. At length. With painful articulateness. Is that a word?

His reverie was interrupted by the cessation of noise. Hoshi caught her breath, and Archer stood.

"I am going to assign a crewman to check these boards daily to verify your absence, and to report his or her findings back to Ensign Sato," he said. He nodded to Hoshi.

"If I see one sign that you've gone anywhere near them," she said, "or get one more report of your interaction with any of these people, I will take one of those backflow inhibitors and shove it so far up your ass..."

"Wait...don't I outrank you?"

**"SO FAR UP YOUR ASS!"**

**"Yes, ma'am." Trip hung his head.**

**Archer looked from one to the other, and realized his job was done. "Dismissed."**

**T'Pol and Hoshi exited the ready room. As Trip turned to leave, Archer said quietly, "Commander Tucker."**

**Trip sighed to himself and turned around to face his captain.**

**"I don't like receiving surprise messages from Admiral Forrest. Especially about nonsense such as this that could have been avoided."**

**"Yes, sir."**

**"You know better, Trip."**

**"Yes, sir. Or, at least I should."**

**"Damn right."**

**They looked at each other for a minute.**

**"At least you behaved yourself on _this_ first contact."**

**"Yes, sir."**

**Silence. The only movement was that of the stars streaking by the window.**

**"trippin4tucker.com?"**

**"Yes sir. People who really seem to need to get a life. Pictures, sightings, boards. Hess says at least they haven't put up fan fiction yet." He neglected to mention the Fantasy Date section.**

**"Are there links to other sites?"**

**Where's he going with this? "Yes, there are."**

**Archer's eyes met his.**

**"Think maybe I have a website?"**

**Trip grinned. "Let's have a look."**

****


End file.
